


The Distance Between is Only a Number

by Inane_Rational



Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rimming, Sense8 AU, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inane_Rational/pseuds/Inane_Rational
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Tim Gutterson and Raylan Givens meet.  And the actual time they met each other face to face.  Sense8 AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Distance Between is Only a Number

** Five… **

Tim made himself as small as he could, and hoped his father wouldn’t think to look here. The closet was getting stuffy as the summer heat filtered between the slates of the closet’s door. Outside in the kitchen, he could hear his father yelling for him, and he did his best not to cry. 

He was so preoccupied about his father Tim didn’t register the odd tug in his brain.

“Hey,” a voice softly said. Tim jumped, surprised to see someone else in the closet with him. The man was older. He wasn’t as old as his dad, but he looked old enough where he didn’t have to live at home anymore. 

“Who are you?” Tim made sure his whisper was very quiet.

“I’m Raylan. What’s your name?” Raylan looked at the little boy beside him, disoriented to where he was, and surprised about who he was with. There was no way this kid was part of his ‘cluster.’

“Tim.”

They both stared at each other, Tim gawking at Raylan in wonderment, and Raylan guessing that the kid was eight—maybe, seven.

“Tim!” A voice bellowed from outside, making them both jump. Tim scrunched further into his corner, while Raylan quickly understood why they were in a closet. His fist clenched involuntarily and he drew himself closer to Tim.

“Is that your father?” Raylan looked around the space, peering through the slates and guessed that they were located in the front entryway. 

Tim nodded vigorously. “You have to be quiet,” he urged desperately. 

Everything about this stung like a bad memory for Raylan, looking at the kid and the bruises on his arm. “Hey,” Raylan said, taking the same soft tone when he first appeared here, and made sure to sit right beside Tim, pressed up close with an arm around his shoulder. “I know a thing or two about shit fathers.”

Tim wanted to smile, but instead said, “You aren’t supposed to swear.”

“What?” Raylan absentmindedly blinked at him, before realizing with a smirk, “You mean _shit_?”

Tim pressed his face into Raylan’s side, trying to stomp down on his glee. Raylan liked that he could make Tim smile for a little bit. “It isn’t bad if it’s true,” he whispered, conspiratorially. 

“Really?” Tim looked at Raylan, hoping that the man could tell his father that when they were found.

Raylan was suddenly afraid of the hope in Tim’s eyes, remembering his attempts at hiding behind his mother and Aunt Helen. It didn’t always work.

And it couldn’t work here. 

“Yeah,” Raylan finally responded, as a crash was heard from somewhere above. He quickly recalled all the options that weren’t quite available to him. “Do you have anyone to go to?”

Tim shook his head. “I had my mama, but she’s gone now.”

Raylan couldn’t decipher what Tim meant. Did Tim mean his mother was dead or living a life far away? It angered him to think about the latter option, because he couldn’t understand how a woman could voluntarily leave her son with the asshole upstairs, if that was the case. Said asshole, was currently thundering down the steps.

As cruel as it would be, Raylan hoped Tim’s mother had died.

“Raylan,” Tim said, muffling himself into Raylan’s shirt, digging himself away from the door. There was the sound of glass breaking when a door was wrenched open. It sounded like a photo dropping to the ground.

“Shh.” He did his best to hush Tim and kept him quiet. “It’ll be alright,” he lied, surprised with how vividly he could feel those fingers digging into him. Raylan didn’t understand how or why he was here, but he guessed he could do his best. 

Tim continued to sniffle into Raylan’s shirt, and he grimaced, wondering it sound was really being blocked if he wasn’t actually there. Raylan could shout at the top of his lungs if he wanted to, but Tim couldn’t. 

“You ever heard of the story of the rabbit and an old man named Reginald Wright?” Raylan asked, hoping to distract Tim with stories he barely remembered. Folktales and stories that his mother would tell him when he went to bed at night and his father hadn’t scared her away to Noble’s Holler.

Tim shook his head, looking up at Raylan with curiosity. He loved story time.

Raylan smiled and launched into various tales, while Tim listened intently, following the drawl of Raylan’s voice and imaging the bravery of the soldier in a war. Or smile at the lessons learned by little boys and girls to follow superstitions or the wise words of elders. 

He liked Raylan, and he hoped his new friend could stay.

“Sounds like your dad quieted down.” The loud banging had stopped. Nothing sounded like it had broken in a while.

Tim listened, knowing the trick. “Maybe,” he said, sceptically. He then turned to Raylan, asking very seriously, “Do you like pancakes?”

“What?”

“I know how to make pancakes,” Tim insisted.

Raylan knew a bribe when he heard one, even from an eight year old. “I wish I could stay. But I have no clue how I got here.” He paused, thinking he heard a creak somewhere nearby, and was suddenly reminded of the ease to breaking the connection. 

A plan formed in Raylan’s head. “Maybe you can tell me your address, and then I could visit you sometime.”

“Really?” Tim was almost too excited to contain it.

“Yeah,” Raylan enthused, thinking of the best way to call social services for Tim from a dorm room in another city—or even another state. It wasn’t the best plan, and it could amount to nothing, but it was something.

“I live on—“

The closet door burst open, and the last thing Raylan got was Tim’s shout of fear. He was back in his dorm room sitting on the bed with a sudden pit of failure that weighed down in his gut. Besides the kids southern drawl, Raylan had nothing to go on.  
  
  
**…Four…**

Tim walked along the track when he felt it, the slightest pull on his brain. A barely there prod from a fingertip. He felt this sensation once before when he was eight, a memory that he treasured. 

Tim looked behind him and was surprised to see the apparition with a much older face. Raylan felt a similar sort of shock upon recognizing an older Tim, identifying him by those sharp blue eyes.

Tim looked Raylan over. He noticed the way the man had filled out with muscle, obtained from lifestyle rather than daily training at the gym, like his classmates that enjoyed bothering him until they got bored. Raylan looked good, jeans and a shirt partially unbuttoned down. It gave him thoughts of unrepentant sins the pastor at the church liked to preach about every Sunday.

Raylan caught him watching, and Tim feigned dismissiveness by sitting down on the track, stretching his legs out and knocking his feet together. Raylan followed suit, taking in his own deduction of the boy, disappointed to see the cut on his lip.

“Are you real?” Tim asked, after a bout of silence.

“Yeah,” Raylan said, looking around at the open field and blue sky surrounding them. “This is Texas,” he said to himself, surprised that he might possibly be nearby Tim. He’d moved here a year ago, joining the Dallas office for the US Marshal’s northern district of Texas.

“You never came back.” Tim wasn’t accusing Raylan, only stating a fact. It didn’t make Raylan feel less guilty.

“Sorry kid, I was new to the whole sensate thing. I’m not even sure how I’m talking to you right now.” Raylan wished he was wearing his hat, only so it could block out the glare of the sun.

“Sensate?” Tim cocked his head in curiosity.

“Right, you wouldn’t really know.” Raylan wiped a hand over his face, unsure whether to go for an explanation or a lie. 

It dawned on Raylan that Tim probably had the same genes that made them a little bit more than human, and the realization made him grimace. How the hell do you explain this to a kid? The knowledge and acceptance of suddenly being connected with seven other people, from various parts of the world, had slowly filtered in unknowingly with an unsteady ease.  
Raylan looked at Tim again, whom was waiting expectantly. He knew there were other people—other clusters, new and old. Yet, he’d never met any of them.

He opted for avoidance. “How old are you now?”

“Sixteen,” Tim said absentmindedly, before continuing, “What? So you’re really real? And you are talking to me because you’re…psychic?”

Raylan snorted. “Shit, if I was psychic, I could probably avoid half the trouble I get into.”

Tim glowered at Raylan, waiting for an answer, which only made Raylan grin. Tim’s glower made him look like a pissed-off, wet cat. It was an expression of harmless despising. Raylan then saw the bruise on Tim’s arm and found any amusement flit away.

“Sorry I disappeared on you.”

“My dad has that effect on people.” Truthfully, Tim had felt a small relief when Raylan disappeared on him when he was found, thinking his new friend was safe and away. Yet, Raylan never came back though, even when Tim waited. He even tried sleeping in the closet, hoping he’d show up. Tim’s dad smacked him when he found him there the next morning.

“You live in Texas?” Tim asked.

“For a year now.”

“Where are you right now?”

“You can’t see?” Raylan had only gotten used to the sudden displacement of being with a person in his cluster, yet still remaining where he was.

“Am I supposed to?” Tim looked around to see if anything had changed, or if there was something he didn’t notice.

“Honestly, I don’t know how any of this works.” Raylan shrugged, and then offered, “I’m in a surveillance van.”

Tim perked up, thinking about all the action movies and spy thrillers he’d seen. “Cool. What do you do?”

“I’m a US Marshal.” Raylan showed off his badge.

“Like in The Fugitive?”

Raylan laughed. “Yeah, _exactly_ like in the fugitive.”

Tim rather liked Raylan’s smile. Still. “Now I know you’re bullshitting. You wouldn’t be talking to me if being a US Marshal was like the movie.”

“Could just be a slow week.”

“And when you say week, you really mean a year.”

Raylan’s sure his eyebrows were hunkered down as he frowned at Tim’s mockery. “You’re a little shit, you know that.”

Tim made sure to give his best shit-eating smile to Raylan, whom only frowned even more. Instead of engaging further, Raylan made the rare choice of taking the high road, and leaned back in an act of relaxation. “Thank god you’re not a part of my cluster.”

“What’s a cluster?” Tim asked instantly, picking up on the new term.

“Right. I didn’t explain the whole sensate thing,” Raylan said, waving around a hand like they were talking about magic. It might as well be. This wasn’t anything normal. Raylan stewed over how to describe the odd, enlightened, and miraculous thing of being a sensate was. Apparently, he was taking too long.

“Is it magic?”

Apparently he was already giving the wrong impression without saying a word. “What? No. It isn’t magic.”  
Tim slumped a bit in disappointment. Damn if Raylan didn’t see a little hope disappeared from Tim’s eyes.  
“It’s genetic. Or so I’m told. I don’t know how it works. But I’m ‘connected’ with seven other people—part of a group of eight. We can feel each other, or get a sense of each other, know what another is thinking, or maybe what they’re doing. We can sometimes even share stuff between us. Or lend, maybe it’s lend.” Raylan paused, knowing he was doing a bad job. He had spoken haltingly with stops and starts. “Is any of this making sense?” 

Tim’s unimpressed look didn’t help things. “So I’m connected with you?”

“No. You aren’t part of my cluster,” Raylan said, unnerved when Tim didn’t say anything and waited expectantly.

“And a cluster is?” Tim asked, unnecessarily stretching out the sounds and syllables.

“I’m trying to hand you knowledge here, shouldn’t you be a little more appreciative.”

“If you write this down for me, maybe you’ll do a better job.”

Raylan let the full force of his annoyance display on his face, which only made Tim grin even wider. It might as well be a full blown smile. 

“Clusters are the groups that we’re a part of. Or will be in your case.”

“So I’m not a sensate?”

“I guess you’re a potential.”

“Potential.” Tim chewed over the word. “It sounds pretty mystical.”

“It really isn’t.”

“And you guys share _everything_?”

“We share thoughts, feelings—sometime memories.”

Tim thought of the cigarette marks on his back. “That doesn’t sound cool.”

And Raylan nodded, having the instinct to know what Tim was thinking about. “You know what is cool? Having someone else lock pick a door, but through you. Got handcuffed to a steering wheel and Randy, a guy in my cluster, picked the lock and got me out.”

Tim sat up straight in interest. “You can do that.”

“ _He_ can do that. It’s all very ‘all for one and one for all,’ and the car was getting hot, so Randy thought it was better that I get out.”

“Cool,” Tim said, imagining what he could do if he could suddenly pick locks. Or fire a gun. But seriously, one thing Tim did have to clarify, “His name is Randy?”

“The story would sound better if his name wasn’t Randy, wouldn’t it.”

“When you pick locks, can you say you got horny?” Tim joked.

Raylan laugh at the childish joke, as much as he tried not to. Tim thought to himself that he enjoyed the way Raylan laughed. Even though he was too busying giggling at Tim’s joke, Tim nonetheless looked away so Raylan wouldn’t notice.

They let a comfortable silence pass over them. The wind picked up at times, blowing warm air into their faces. It was still a much better environment than the inside of an unvented surveillance van. Raylan had been inside the van for three days so far, waiting to see if Terrence William, priors for grand theft auto and assault, was going to show up at his mother’s place. Thinking of William’s mugshot, the guy had a tiny resemblance to Tim, at least physically with his lithe build and surly looking face. The only other thing Raylan knew was that Terrence had dropped out of high school, much to his mother’s disappointment.

Raylan asked as an afterthought, “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Suspended.” Tim shrugged, scuffing at the grass with his heel. “Some asshole was trying to push me around, and he kinda knocked me on the stomach. I just. I don’t know. I wanted to be the one to throw the first punch.”

Raylan understood.

“Totally wasn’t worth it. Now I have to write in a journal about my feelings or some bullshit.” Tim could see the guidance counselor’s face and her fake expression of worry. Everyone knew his house was falling apart and his father was a drunk. “You think if I write about being a sensate they’ll send me to an asylum.”

“You _can’t_ write about this,” Raylan said quickly, staring Tim straight in the eyes.

Tim masked his nerves from Raylan’s sudden sternness. “I’m not stupid,” Tim stressed, faking nonchalance. “The guidance counselor would probably think I’m just pissing on this journal anyway. Unless they somehow learn of my imaginary friend, named Raylan, when I was younger.”

“That’s not it,” Raylan continued, “There are people out there who hunt sensates.” He watched Tim’s eyes widen in fear, and he felt satisfied that the kid was going to take this seriously.

“Why?”

“Don’t got a clue. But _what we are_. No one can know.”

Tim nodded, questions forming, but not bothering to ask. He had a feeling Raylan wouldn’t know the answers. He nodded again, making sure Raylan knew he was serious, a seal on their unspoken agreement.

“Good,” Raylan said, relaxing a little, stretching his legs out to let go of the tension in his shoulders. 

No one in his cluster had experienced it firsthand. It was like a ghost story to be passed on, or someone knew of it happening to someone else. Yet, the tales are never told with fun and games in mind, so the threat was real and they had to be careful. 

Tim was young, and maybe the change, for the lack of a better term, wouldn’t happen to him. Yet, Raylan strangely felt like he was burdening Tim with this info, so he changed the subject to what was hopefully a better topic. “You trying to stay away from home?”

Tim blinked at Raylan and felt caught out, before he remembered. “Right, shit father.”

“You said you’re sixteen, right?”

“Two years,” Tim confirmed. They looked at each other with mutual understanding, wistful smiles on their face.

“What are you going to do after?”

“Don’t know. Get a job, find my own place. What did you do?” Tim asked, uncharacteristically seeking guidance.

“I got lucky. My aunt handed me a get out of jail card and I left. Before that I worked in a coal mine. Almost died in that mine. I think that’s why my Aunt got me out. If I stayed, I would’ve died. One way or another.”

“You’re a US Marshal. Don’t you get shot at?” Tim asked incredulously.

“I went to college first. Then figured I enjoyed chasing away dirt bags on campus, why not make it my job. Would have joined the military, but my dad fought in Vietnam and frankly I wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe I should of. Hell, join the marines. Semper fi!” Raylan battle cried.

Tim managed a small smirk at Raylan’s antics, but he needed to know, “Is two years a long time?”

“Sometimes it’s going to feel like forever. But it’ll come.” Suddenly Raylan wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and pulled Tim tightly to his chest. “But now you got your imaginary friend, Raylan, to keep you company!”

“Shut up!” Tim yelled, pushing Raylan off of him, hoping the flush on his cheeks could be explained away by the sun.

Their connection was interrupted. The last thing Tim heard was a car door opening, and then he was alone again, laying on side on the track.  
He stared out at the empty field, got up, and started to walk along the train tracks again, heading back home.  
  
  
**…Three…**

Raylan’s in the firing range going another round, emptying a clip into a target thirty yards away. Anything to stay out of their home, though the correct thing to say would be _his_ home.

The class had finished some forty minutes prior, and it was the last one of the day on a Friday. Raylan was guaranteed to be alone.

For a short while at least, because when you’re a sensate, you are never _truly_ alone. The air suddenly felt hot, and then Raylan was in a desert of the like he had never seen. The very air tasted different. He was on a mountain side, overlooking a village while someone underneath a tarp was lying prone looking through the sight of a sniper rifle.

Raylan sat down beside Tim, but Tim didn’t move, recognizing the feeling of his connection with Raylan and whatever this thing was about.

“You joined the military,” Raylan commented, looking around again. “Where are you?”

“Afghanistan.”

“9/11,” Raylan said more to himself.

Tim adjusted his scope. “Where are you?”

“A gun range in Georgia.”

For Tim, he blinked and it was suddenly much darker and cooler than the blistering heat he’d been acclimatizing too. The shift was similar when he found himself talking to Roan in Dublin or Wayne in Boston. He was where Raylan was, and it made him feel a little homesick, even if this wasn’t home. 

Tim walked over to the layers of targets on the side. “Nice shots.”

“You must be pretty good yourself, considering that gun you’ve got there,” Raylan said, eyeing the military grade weapon in Tim’s hands and noting that Tim could see where he was.

Tim smiled and took Raylan’s ear muffs, taking position at the stall. He picked up Raylan’s gun and fired. His shots went in quick successions, and soon Tim was flipping the switch to bring the target in. Raylan looked over Tim’s shoulder’s noting how tightly grouped the shots were—how _impressively_ grouped the shots were. That wasn’t a close-range distance either.

“I stand corrected,” Raylan said.

Tim wasn’t paying attention, smelling the gun oil on his hand. His hands, where he was currently on mission in Afghanistan, while standing in a firing range in Georgia. Raylan was taking in Tim. The tan looked good on him.

“How come you couldn’t see where I was before?”

“Maybe it’s because I now have my own beehive.” Tim internally winced, not meaning to slip out that last word.

“Beehive?” Raylan looked at Tim with a prying smile, wondering why they were talking about bees.

Tim gave the barest of a shrug, knocking around the idea of explaining the change from the word Raylan had taught him. “There’s a girl in my _cluster_ who’s studying to be an entomologist. She really likes bees.”

Raylan looked at Tim in surprise, “You’re what, eighteen?”

“Twenty, asshole. You know how to count?”

“You look eighteen.”

“I’m a few months from the drinking age.” Tim scoffed, annoyed at hearing the same thing everyone had said about his age and his physical appearance. The recruitment officers thought he was sixteen when he came to sign up, and it looked even more unbelievable when he went through RASP, followed by Ranger School.

“Will you get to enjoy your legal drinking status?”

Tim shrugged, and Raylan sighed, noticing that Tim did that a lot. He didn’t remember him being _this_ quiet. But shit could happen in an hour, and Raylan hadn’t seen Tim for four years.

“Well then, I’ll make sure to have a couple of drinks for your sake.”

“Your wife’s not going to question why you’re making toast to a twenty-one year old guy you never met.” Tim pointed at the ring Raylan’s finger. The one Raylan wasn’t taking off until the divorces was officially finalized.

“That won’t be a problem,” Raylan said almost callously. “At this point, it’s a temporary fixture.”

Tim was silent in understanding. “Sorry,” he said, awkwardly.

Raylan chuckled, yet Tim could see the ocean of anger beneath. It could be the distance between them, but Raylan took less care to hide it, because in many ways Tim was still a stranger. “I’ve been getting a lot of those lately.”

Tim stood still, not willing to commit to any sort of consolation, empathy, or reassurance. Instead he asked, “Why did you ask if I was eighteen?”

“It’s a bit young for a cluster to occur. Or so I’m told. Apparently, this thing tends to come upon those in the mid to late twenty’s. If it happens.”

“What can I say? I’m all about bucking the trends.”

Raylan shook his head, forgoing a comment on Tim’s sarcastic quip.

“So how are you finding your beehive?” Raylan had to chuckle a bit, still getting a kick out of the changed term. 

“Weird,” Tim said honestly. “Even though _we’ve_ talked to each other before I ever got my cluster….”

“It’s not the same,” Raylan finished. 

Tim nodded. “No one named Randy though. Got lucky there.”

They both smiled—a silent laughter at the shared joke. 

“Tell me about them,” Raylan said, for the sake of filling in the quiet space.

“Why?”

Raylan looked at Tim disbelievingly for his sudden protectiveness. “What do you mean why? I’m curious.”

Tim mulled it over. He practically trained himself to not talk about sensates with other people, but Raylan was the one who told him to be secretive about being a sensate, so it couldn’t really do any harm to talk about his cluster with him. 

“Quid pro quo,” Tim said, thinking he’d at least get some fun out of this.

“What?”

“Quid pro quo. We take turns.”

“If you’re going to start quoting The Silence of the Lambs, which one of us is Hannibal Lecter.”

“I don’t think I have the charm to pull off Lecter.”

“You think I’m charming.” Tim rolled his eyes. Raylan even had the galled his wiggle his eyebrows at him for the unintentional compliment.

“Like a serial killer,” Tim deadpanned.

Raylan went back to frowning at Tim, annoyed at the kid’s humour.

“If it makes you feel better, I’d totally let myself be eaten out by you.” Tim gave his widest grin to hide the truth of the statement, and instead enjoyed the expression of Raylan balking at him.

“Well, at least we know where we stand.” Raylan leaned against the counter. “Fine. Quid pro quo, Clarice. You first.”

“Well, you already know about Darlene.”

“The beekeeper?”

“The etymology student,” Tim stressed. “She’s from Minnesota. Got stung by a bee as a kid and never went back.”

“You know how to pick them.”

“You want to get _Randy_ over this.”

Raylan snickered. “Continue on.”

Tim figured that was right, since it was one for one thus far. “Then there’s Juan. He lives in Peru and greatly aspires to play in the PGA.”

“Isn’t soccer the most popular sport down there?”

“Shit, it’s huge.” Tim said with wide-eyes, and Raylan knew that Tim would have been able to see those celebrations first hand. “But golf is his thing. He even works at a golf course. And they let him play during their closing hours.”

“He plays in the dark?”

Tim smiled, recalling the serenity of the golf course at night. “He’s got these glow-in-the-dark balls, or he painted them—I don’t know. But when he plays at night, he calls them his shooting stars. I called them piss rockets, because their yellow in colour.”

“I don’t imagine Juan liked that very much.” The way Tim described it was almost like listening to a child’s dream. Probably what is was for Juan. Raylan remembered watching for shooting stars in his backyard, days after an astronaut landed in a helicopter on the school’s baseball field. “Sounds like a trick Randy would perform.”

“The lock-picker?”

“Locking picking is just part of the trade. He was a conman and a magician.”

“Was?”

“Let’s just say he doesn’t go by Randy anymore due to bad shit happening and witness protection.”

“You wouldn’t have happened to help in managing the system for him, would you?”

“It seems the British system is different. That and he had a really crappy lawyer. Felicia, our L.A entertainment lawyer, doesn’t know the ins and outs of Brit law, but she somehow managed to get a deal going. She knows how to talk. The way I understand it, the police got a hell of a surprise hearing Randy talk legal jargon. That’s two from me, your turn.”

“I got a stripper from Amsterdam.”

“Seriously? I’ll take that over a philosophy professor from Canada.” Evan kept pestering him to have a chat lately, and while Raylan could understand why, it didn’t mean he’d have to listen.

“Why? He try to tell you the meaning of life.”

“He keeps trying to help my life.”

“Long live and prosper? Not all those who wander are lost? Build a man a fire, and he'll be warm for a day. Set a man on fire, and he'll be warm for the rest of his life?”

Raylan sighed. “I’m going to assume you’re trying to be funny.”

“Oh, I’m hilarious. I just don’t need you to appreciate it.” Tim jumped onto the counter of a stall, leaning against one wall and letting a leg swing back and forth. To keep the conversation going, he asked, “Why does he think you need help anyway?”

“If I had to pick an answer, I’d say guilt.”

“You piss him off, he did something, and now he’s sorry for it.”

Raylan looked offended. “Why’d you say I started it?”

“You look the type.”

“I’ll have you know I didn’t start anything.” _He_ didn’t cheat. It’s one of the few claims that he’s got against the shambles of his marriage.

Tim thought it over. “Is it the divorce?”

Raylan stayed silent for a moment. “Tim, I’m going to need a couple of drinks in me before having this conversation.”

Tim felt startled by the anger directed towards him. “Well, I’d offer but all I got is this dirt around me. And, I’m not going to lay here and watch you drink while I wait for this guy to pop his head out, so…your turn or mine?” It was the best way Tim could leave off the current topic, but the coldness of the gun range and the heat under the camo tarp only added to the thick tension suddenly between them. 

“Yours.” By the tone of Raylan’s voice, he wasn’t going to try to make things easy. 

“Wayne,” Tim said, “homeless, steals copper for a living.” Try as he might, he couldn’t bring back the joviality they had a few moments before either. 

“Antoinette. Baker in France.”

“Tomoyo, Hokkaido. She does those Japanese comic books.”

“Yao. Hong Kong. Works tech support.”

“Roan. Ireland. Part-time bartender, full-time student.”

“Julie, from Russia, works at a big cat sanctuary.”

“Kamhan…Afghanistan. Works as a store clerk in his families’ business.” Tim wished he kept this one last, because it was the best one he got. Instead, Tim was in Kamhan’s country to fight a war and he wasn’t quite sure why when asked.

Raylan watched the youthfulness seep away in Tim. He imagined a part of it was already gone, back inside a closet in Texas. And whatever was left, was going to be chipped away. “You guys make plans to meet up.”

“He helped me learn the language with the sensate link thing. If you can call it learning. But he doesn’t want to do anything that can endanger his family—nothing out in the open. Neither do I.”

Raylan nodded, as if he understood. He thought about the people he met in the witness protection programs, escorting them to new locations, or whenever their new identities have been compromised. Yet, Raylan could only imagine that war coloured things differently. There was the few times he heard his father talk about the Vietnam War, blindly drunk and showing off scars—physical or otherwise.

“How many missions have you been on?”

“One, for reconnaissance. This would be the actual kill mission,” Tim said the last part quietly; as though it’s a secret he wasn’t supposed to say.

It probably was.

Raylan doesn’t want to talk about the war, or the tragedy that spurred it on. Nor did he want to talk about the last person in his cluster.

“How long have you been lying here?”

“Hours. If sensates can share physical feelings, can we get the feeling of drunkenness? Like, if someone in my cluster were to get drunk right now, can we—I don’t know—osmosis off of that?”

“I don’t think we can will it.”

“That sucks.” Tim mulled over his disappointment, considering the possibility that he’ll be on mission during his birthday. “Isn’t it your turn?”

“I’ll be honest. I’d rather drink myself stupid than talk about her.”

A glean of an idea was taking form in Tim’s head, thinking that Raylan cheated on his wife with the female in his cluster. 

Raylan watched Tim and felt on edge, seeing the wheels turn. So Raylan tried to draw the hard line. “I’m not going to talk about this to a kid. It doesn’t matter.”

Tim took offence to that. He didn’t like being called kid at sixteen, but whatever. 

Tim expected different now. 

“Well this kid’s got a gun trained on someone right now, so I’m practically all grown up.” He’ll let _that_ sit with Raylan. 

“Is your philosophy professor going to get involved if you drink yourself into a stupor?” Tim asked innocently.

Raylan looked at Tim, unsure where he was going with this, but following nonetheless. “I hope not.”

“You hate him?”

“I don’t hate him. I’m annoyed by him.” 

“So you don’t like him.”

“I like him just fine. Evan can really knock back the alcohol and I can appreciate that kind of talent. He just needs to mouth shut and stay the fuck out.”

“Maybe you should hear what he has to say. Get your ass out of your head.”

Raylan glared at Tim. “It’s complicated.”

“Right, complicated.” Might as well go for the bulls eyes. “What the hell did you do?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure where it started. You think being a part of the same cluster it’d be smooth sailing.” Raylan held up his hand, the ring gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

“Awkward,” Tim said, after a moment of silence.

Raylan giggled, feeling some of the tension from the past few days seep out, until it flooded out like a dam. Then he was laughing hysterically. “Yeah, you could say that,” he said, between breathes.

Tim found himself looking away, concentrating on the sights in his scope and fading Raylan’s laughter out from his ear. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed. 

“Her name’s Winona, and I…fell in love when I first saw her. At least, you think it’s love.” Raylan wished it wasn’t.

Any comment Tim had, he chose to stay quite. Relationships weren’t a part of his minimal attempts at human interaction. Raylan made it too easy sometimes, and right this moment he regretted being put in this awkward situation as a confidante.

Eventually, Raylan calmed down. He watched Tim fidget where he stood, using a finger to slightly push Raylan’s gun around, this way and that. “You have a nice sounding cluster.”

“Beehive,” Tim absentmindedly corrected. “I don’t know. I don’t have an ex-Randy on mine.”

“You got a stripper from Amsterdam.”

“Charlotte’s pretty cool. Her mom actually owns the strip joint. It’s a family run business.”

“You get to learn anything from her.”

“Why? You wanna dance? ‘Cause I don’t got my thong on me, and I won’t do it for free.”

“Maybe another time then,” Raylan said, partially joking.

Tim heard it, looked at Raylan and tried to figure out if maybe…. He let the thought taper away. There wasn’t a point.

Raylan came by Tim and collected his gun. “I think I’m going to go home.”

“Don’t let philosopher’s talk you into a drunken stupor.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Raylan said, thinking that maybe he should. “Bye Tim.”

“See ya’, Raylan.” For once, they were having a proper goodbye. 

And then Tim was back in the heat of the desert.

“Bogey on site, coming in at three o’clock.” Tim shifted his sight in that direction, seeing his target in the passenger seat of a jeep.  
  
  
**…Two…**

Raylan was bored, sitting in a lounge chair on his balcony. He got back from seizing a house, and got attacked by a house cat of all god damn things. Julie was beside herself, but helped out. All Raylan had to do was explain to his partner, Sanchez, why he was speaking Russian. The reason being a woman wasn’t far off from the truth. Whatever idea Sanchez formulated in his head was his, such as continuously calling Raylan the Cat Whisperer.

One thing Raylan knew was going to happen was the occupancy of the ugliest plush toy cat on his desk the coming morning. He didn’t know how he does it, but Sanchez would somehow manage to get the damn ugly thing on short notice. First was the dog, after the Crowe’s pitbull tried to take a chunk out of his leg, and then the alligator he almost didn’t see when he was chasing a fugitive through swampland. Now he’ll get to add a cat to the collection at the garbage dump.

In addition, the title of Cat Whisperer might stick around for a while once Sanchez started telling the story to the rest of the marshals.

“Hey,” Raylan heard, turning his head to the surprise and elation of Tim lying naked on top of a bed, with the exception of the watch on his wrist. It looked like there was a joint in his hand, while his companion for the night was dead asleep beside him.

“Your place or his?” Raylan asked, looking around the messy bedroom. He’s not surprise by the revelation that Tim was gay, or maybe bisexual. But Tim’s casual nudity was a sight to behold.

“Like I would be this much of a slob.” Tim took a slow inhale on the joint, and let the smoke sit in his lungs before exhaling. “Also, this ain’t mine either,” he said, gesturing to the joint in his hand.

“Your friend know you’re smoking his weed?” Raylan asked, moving to lie down beside Tim. Now that he was up close, Raylan could see the brittleness in Tim’s eyes.

“He offered before. I’m taking up on the offer now.” Tim turned on his side to face Raylan. “Where are you now?” 

He looked around as Raylan sat in a lounge chair on an apartment balcony, overlooking a city landscape. It was hot as hell, and the ocean air didn’t help at all. 

“Miami.”

“Mi-a-mi,” Tim sung, extending syllables and exaggerating the vowels. “You like it here?”

“It’s why I moved here,” Raylan paused, thinking of Winona. “My ex-wife and I actually lived most of our marriage here before I tried out Glynco at her behest. Look how that turned out.”

“Then why’d you move here?”

“I figured I’d try out the Miami singles’ life since I’m not hitched anymore.”

“How’re you finding it?”

“Why? You’re boyfriend not doing it for you?”

“Dude’s not my boyfriend. He just offered his dick and I accepted.”

“That’s an apt description for how life is right now.”

“You like the dick?”

“I’m an amiable kind of guy.”

“Good to know.”

“I’m assuming you’re stateside.”

“If you’re counting on me to not be dumb enough to do this while surrounded by the military, then yeah. I got a short amount of leave and I thought I’d try something new.”

“Smoking weed?”

“Getting fucked.”

“Didn’t peg you for a virgin.”

“Hah, peg! Unless you don’t count blowjobs and handjobs, I’ve gotten plenty of action.”

“You’re a regular Jon Duan.”

“Sure you aren’t talking about yourself. I’ve only met you like three or four times, but…” Tim paused to eye Raylan up and down, nodding to himself when his verdict was sealed, “…but, I bet you could pull people in like nobody’s business—catch them in a web.”

“Maybe,” Raylan shrugged, “does that make me the itsy bitsy spider?” 

Tim laughed. “Washed down the water pipe and all.”

Raylan watched as Tim had another pull on the joint, particularly the way his lips wrapped around the end. “You enjoy yourself?”

“Wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Tim said, and took another puff just so he could watch Raylan watch him.

“Is that why you’re still wearing your watch?” Raylan curiously noticed that the watch’s clock face was on the inside of the wrist. “That a sniper thing, to wear your watch that way.”

Tim ignored the latter comment. “I hear the Ironman triathlon was thinking of putting in a fourth component. I was hoping to time myself. See if I meet the requirements.”

“If fucking becomes a sport you can count me in.” Raylan decided to have a pull on the joint, bringing Tim’s hand closer to his mouth. He knew it wouldn’t do anything for him, but the action alone was soothing. “I do believe this is the most open I’ve ever seen you,” Raylan said, after he blew out the smoke.

“I’ll be a resounding endorsement of drug awareness PSAs. Marijuana makes you more open.” There’s a dirty joke there that made Tim snort in amusement.

Raylan grabbed the back of Tim’s neck with the gentlest of touch, wanting to see if Tim was vibrating at the seams as he looked, like a pent up ball of energy ready to explode. 

Tim pressed back against Raylan’s hand, unaware that he breathed out a sigh. “What does it look like, if the guy sleeping next to me were to wake up and see me like this?”

“You high right now, so I don’t think he’d put that much thought into it.”

“And if I wasn’t high.”

“He’d probably think you’re a little crazy.”

“It sometimes feels that way.”

Raylan doesn’t know what Tim was referring too, except that it wasn’t the joint in his hand or that they were talking with each other face to face, despite the physical distance. Yet, he wasn’t going to ask Tim if he was okay.

So Raylan tells him about his day and his new designation as cat whisper, as well as the stuffed animal he’s expecting on his desk the next morning. Tim’s eyes are a little glaze, but he’d like to think it’s largely adoration that he was seeing as he’s laughed at.

“I always wanted a cat…or a lizard. Shit, give me a fish. I always wanted a pet. Tomoyo’s got a cat. A big fat one. She named it Dorito.”

“That the comic book girl.”

“I have been correctly informed that it’s called manga, and I’m totally the subject of her new gay story.” Honestly, Tim strangely felt a little bit of pride about that. “I might have let her watched a few of my hook-ups.”

“Was she here for this?” Raylan gestured between Tim and his companion.

“No. Maybe next time.”

“Kinky. Didn’t know you had it in you?”

“Research is very important.” Tim took one last pull on the joint before it was done. “Is it creepy?”

“I think you may have headed into a compromising area?”

“Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have. But they’re all me and I’m them. But I’m still me and they’re still them.” Tim realized he was rambling, but the important thing he needed to think about was: should he care?

Raylan kept his laughter to himself, hiding his smile beneath the motion of rubbing his stubble. “Is this the less fun side of you when you high?”

“What?”

“You and Evans could have a good talk about this, though I don’t imagine he’d appreciate you being under the influence.”

“Right, philosophy professor.” Tim turned to Raylan, leaning in as if to say a secret. He ever told you the meaning of life.”

“No. In fact, I tell him to shut up and keep it to himself,” Raylan said, watching the wheels turn in Tim’s head.

Tim hummed to himself, thinking about wind gauges and travel distance. “I once talked to Roan and Kamhan about it.”

“Didn’t take you for the philosophical type.”

“I’m not. I wanted to know if I was a bad person,” Tim said, mind far away.

Raylan’s not sure he liked Tim being this honest. He’s positive that Tim would feel the same way. 

He ran a hand down Tim’s back, feeling the dip of his spine, wishing the topic was still on non-consensual voyeurism. He imagined that Tim had scars, but was smooth and soft where the skin attempted to knit itself back together. He wouldn’t know, not unless he could see them and his brain would fill in the blanks. 

All the while, Tim wished he could be a blank slate.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” Raylan answered, if only to pull Tim back.

“You think I should let Tomoyo watch next time I do this?”

“Maybe it’ll be me next time,” Raylan suggested, making sure to leer. 

Tim pretended to mull it over. “Naw. You’re getting on with your years. You think too highly of yourself old timer.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that.” Raylan went back to massaging the back of Tim’s neck, watching the younger man’s eyes flutter close in contentment.

“Did you know that you could, orgy-mind-fuck or something?” Tim suddenly asked.

Was Tim being serious? “No I did not.” He had Raylan’s interest though, especially when Tim gave a lazy smile. 

“Can you imagine if I got my beehive at sixteen or fourteen? We wouldn’t want to get anything done. Almost didn’t get anything done yesterday.”

That was not something Raylan knew, and he felt quite bereaved about it. “Well your cluster is starting to sound much more fun than mine.”

“Tomoyo was probably at the drawing board after last night.”

Raylan became alarmed. “Tim,” he started to warn.

“Don’t worry,” Tim interrupted. “I told them about the stranger dangers.”

“I don’t believe I used the phrase stranger danger.”

“You get what I mean. We’re not stupid.”

“I’m willing to say a bit reckless.”

“I don’t think you have much of a leg to stand on when you say that.”

Raylan smirked. “You’ve judged my character.”

“Judged, sentenced, and booked.” Tim looked at Raylan with his most serious expression. “Maybe one day you’ll have an orgy with your cluster.”

“Honestly, I can’t say I wait with anticipation.”

“I was jerking one out when it first happened.” Tim gave that same smile as hazy details resurfaced. “You _wish_ you knew how good it felt.”

With the way Tim was looking right now, Raylan said, “I really do.” He tried to imagine it, but it wouldn’t work out in his head, not with his cluster. 

On the other hand, the both of them together—that was a good thought.

Tim was thinking the same thing. “Do you think that’s just a thing between beehive-clusters?”

“Do I want to know what you’re thinking?”

“Maybe,” Tim flirted, and then he licked his lips. Tim would deny it, but he did it on purpose to see if Raylan would watch the tip of the tongue trail his lower lip.

Raylan felt a heat flare up and spread from his groin to his head. The thought of it almost made him dizzy. He leaned in and kissed Tim. 

Besides the smell of marijuana, he could smell the alcohol on Tim’s breath. Raylan had the distinct feeling that Tim was trying to drown himself, or at least, drown something out. He kept it a chaste kiss, barely any movement, but Raylan decided then that he wasn’t going to go further. 

“That’s it?” Tim said softly, not hiding his disappointment.

“Rain check,” Raylan said. “I’m recovering from a traumatising experience.”

“I think that cat was more traumatised than you were, taking their owner away.”

“It’ll never fly in the court of law.”

“Too bad,” Tim said, referring to more than one thing.

“You should sleep.”

“I don’t want to.”

Raylan gently pushed at Tim’s shoulder, telling him to face the other way, which he readily complied with. He spooned Tim from behind, noting that yes, there were scars on his back, some too old to be from the war. Raylan trailed his fingers around some of the scars, and over them if Tim didn’t tense up when his touch got too near.

Tim could smell the marijuana in the air, along with the sweat of his fucking from earlier. His ass ached in a way it hadn’t before, but it felt good, and that’s all Tim needed right now. Raylan was a warm presence behind him, along with the warmth of Miami’s nighttime air lulling him to sleep.

Tim’s eyes drooped closed.  
  
  
**…One…**

It happened with a jerk, like gasping for breath after being held underwater. The air was thick with humidity that cloyed on his skin. Tim already knew it was Raylan right away, but this time something was wrong.

A quick fire gaze noted the destroyed tree a few meters away, as well as the body that had been destroyed by the blast at point zero. The second thing he noted was how isolated the area was: no sounds of cars or a city. Tim turned, finding Raylan cuffed to a tree, white as a sheet, breathing unsteadily, and sweating.

“Raylan!” Tim quickly crouched down by Raylan’s side, already acutely aware of how useless he was in this situation.

Raylan felt like his head was filled with cotton. He could see the lit fuse disappear and followed by a blast rocking his sound and vision. The farmer’s eyes were wide in terror, pleading for Raylan to save him. And goddammit, he tried.

Tim could see Raylan’s wrists were rubbed raw against the cuffs. There was no one else around, and there was no way for Tim to take charge, like getting Kamhan safely out of a fire fight, or Kamhan helping him to get a kid to put his weapon down. Raylan wasn’t a part of his cluster, yet for some reason they were connected with one another, and would sporadically see each other again and again.

He had dreaded the moment of seeing Raylan again after his high and slightly drunk display in a stranger’s bed. All of that was shoved aside for a mission priority he couldn’t effectively execute, and now he dreaded the thought that Raylan was going to die out here alone—whether it’d be dehydration from the shock, or the culprit who detonated the explosive coming back.

“Raylan,” Tim said, a little more forcefully.

There was nothing he could do but follow instruction of a combat medic some years back, making sure that Raylan was still breathing and kept warm. Tim wrapped himself around Raylan as much as he could, not sure if it would work when he wasn’t actually there. Maybe it could be the thing where the mind tricked the body. But he stayed like that, convincing himself that it would work, listening to an unsteady rhythm of breathe.

Why wasn’t Raylan’s cluster doing something?

Tim’s not sure how long it was, but at some point Raylan registered that Tim’s presence, and turned to him. His breathing calmed down a bit, but he still felt shaky.

“Tim.”

“Hey,” Tim said, relieved that Raylan was responding, even if he still seemed out of it.

“What are you doing here?” Raylan asked, having the momentary panic that Tommy Bucks was only getting started, and that Tim somehow got lured here as another ‘motivation’ for information. 

Eventually logic caught up, reminding him that the chance of that happening was impossible.

It was two years since they’d last talked to each other, and Raylan spent most of it not thinking about how much he missed him. “Have you seen my hat?”

Tim thought Raylan was losing his mind before he saw a hat a few feet away. It was a white Stetson, dirtied from when it fell to the ground. “I don’t think your close enough to grab it.” 

Why was he asking after a hat anyways? 

Tim checked Raylan’s wrist again. “What the hell happened?” Tim asked, casing the area around them for a threat.

“Gun thug, Tommy Bucks, wanted information on a guy we’re both after. A money launderer for the Miami cartel. Fuck, he didn’t need to kill that guy. I told him everything. _I told him everything I knew_.”

“I know you would. You wouldn’t have willingly let this happen.”

“You ever saw dynamite go off? Ever see what it could do.”

“I’ve seen I.E.Ds.” Tim wasn’t sure that would reassure Raylan, but he wasn’t thinking anything beyond honesty.

“You got an idea of what it’s like when something goes wrong.”

This wasn’t the conversation Tim wanted to be having. “Sure.”

Raylan nodded to himself, a strange relief at finding a mutual understanding.

“Raylan, we need to get you to a hospital.”

“That may be difficult.”

“I know!” Tim hissed out in frustration. “Why hasn’t Randy, or whatever his name is, not help you pick these locks.”

“Because the English’s’ WitSec is a piece of crap,” Raylan mourned, feeling the loss like a missing limb. “Randy’s past eventually caught up.” 

Tim was wide-eyed, experiencing the loss even though he had never met or interacted with the man. Yet, Randy was a part of Raylan, and Tim could see the pain of Randy’s death on Raylan like an added layer of skin. It couldn’t be wiped away.

“Sorry.”

“They got a new improved program over there, from what I hear. Though, how you keep someone safe on an island, who the fuck knows,” Raylan said, bitterly.

Tim nodded, refraining from making an actual input. He couldn’t imagine losing any of his own, or what would have happened if a bullet were to hit him in the right spot. Hell, the number of I.E.D he managed to avoid, sometimes out of pure luck.

“Hey Winona,” Raylan mumbled, looking off to the side with a dopey smile on his face. He was leaning against the tree now, talking to someone Tim couldn’t see. If Raylan hadn’t said Winona’s name, he would have thought Raylan was a lot farther gone than he would have liked.

“Please tell me she can pick a lock a something,” Tim said.

“Tim wants to know if you can pick a lock,” Raylan jiggled the handcuffs for effect. Winona wasn’t impressed. In fact, she had that look on her face when something was upsetting her. At the end of their marriage, it felt like Raylan could only upset her.

“What should I do? Raylan who do I call?” Winona asked, wondering if she could call Dan and get him to call after Raylan. She’d bullshit an excuse if she had too. He mentioned a Tim. “Do I call Tim?”

Tim watched Raylan listen to his ex-wife, finding it strange that he couldn’t see her, still managing to learn something new about their abilities.

“Tim’s right beside me.” Raylan frowned looking between the both of them. “You can see her, right?”

Tim shook his head, looking in the direction of empty air. “I think only you can. It’s your head.”

“I’ll get Dan to send help,” Winona said, reaching for the phone.

“How you gonna manage to do that?” Raylan said to Winona, before turning to Tim, “she’s gonna get help.”

“Good.” Tim didn’t question the how, as long as it was done. 

“Jesus fuck,” Felicia said, making Raylan notices that his entire cluster was now here. 

The only other time they were in the same place at once was when Randy died, and thinking about it didn’t make Raylan feel good about his chances here.

“It’s going to be okay,” Raylan reassured.

“You don’t god damn know that!” Felicia yelled, in her usual stressed way.

“Yelling is not going to help,” Evan piped in. “Winona called someone, maybe you can give an anonymous tip to—where are you?”

“Nicaragua,” Raylan answered, taking a moment to look behind him at Tim, whom was leaning his head on Raylan’s back. 

Tim was feeling the rumble of Raylan’s voice as he talked. It sounded like there was more than Winona now.

“Call the authority in Nicaragua,” Evan ordered Felicia, knowing she would find a way.

Raylan noticed Yao, Antoinette, and Julie standing back in silent support, watching the others take charge. Randy’s absence only become more apparent then. He was always so quiet for a conman and a stage performer.

Raylan closed his eyes, wanting to sink into the feeling of companionship every brought. But it only served to get a poke in the back from Tim and Felicia to snap her fingers in his face to make sure he was alive.

Eventually an ambulance arrived, along with the local police, and Tim got out of the way. He wondered where Raylan’s cluster was standing. If maybe they were occupying the same space and watching, as the officers quickly got Raylan out of the handcuffs and the paramedics got to work. Tim hopped into the back of the ambulance to keep an eye on Raylan.

On the way to the hospital Tim’s doorbell rang. 

“Shit,” he cursed to himself. He forgot he had a prior engagement to meet up with some of the other guys. It was a rare thing, because he honestly didn’t go out of his way to interact with people. But Mark insisted about it, and Tim couldn’t say no.

Tim greeted Mark, trying to appear at least a little bit enthusiastic, which was what tipped Mark off. Anything to cover the fact that he’d rather back in the ambulance to see that everything was going to be okay. 

“Dude, something wrong?” Mark was looking scruffy, a jacket to keep himself warm.

“Let’s go.” Tim shouldered past Mark and locked the door. He’d do his best to enjoy the night, and bow out when he could.

A few hours later, Mark asked, “Buddy, you okay?” The other guys were distracted by the football game on the television.

“Yeah.” Tim tried to act composed.

But Mark was the best spotter Tim ever had, and they worked well with each other. So they knew each other well. “You sure?” Mark pressed.

“Just worried about something,” Tim relented, keeping his tone even.

“Alright man.” Mark clapped his shoulder in support. Forty minutes later, when Tim deemed it passable to beg off, Mark didn’t ask him to stay. Even gave a twenty for the taxi ride home, since Mark drove them both.

He wished he drove himself to have the seclusion of a car, but he didn’t trust himself to be as careful as he usually was in keeping his behaviour normal—nothing that could suggest him being a sensate.

Once Tim got back he tried to see if he could connect again and check on Raylan. He closed his eyes and said his name, trying to force an invisible thread to reach out and find him. Of course, it never worked like that.

He sat at the couch for an hour before he gave up and took a quick shower, then headed to bed. As Tim lied down, he looked over on the other side of the bed and found Raylan beside him. 

Raylan was back in the hotel room, sleeping restfully. Tim could see the wrapping around his wrist, meaning he did get to the hospital. How Raylan managed to convince them to let him go, Tim didn’t know.

Tim reached out to touch the gauze, waking Raylan in the process with a start. He calm down upon seeing Tim, embarrassed by his panic.

“Go to sleep,” Tim whispered.

Raylan nodded, pulling in Tim to close the distance between them. He closed his eyes, with Tim in his view, and the rest of his cluster surrounding him. 

Tim was resolute to keep watch. He figured if Tommy Bucks decided to pop by, he could shake Raylan awake or something. 

And while Tim couldn’t see them, and they couldn’t see him, he had a feeling he wasn’t alone in the room.  
  
  
**…Zero.**

Raylan instantly honed in on Tim the moment he passed through the door of the Lexington Marshal’s office. He gave the cursory glance that he gave everyone else, getting a scope of his new (and hopefully temporary) workplace, but an instinct in him stretched itself out and pawed at Tim.

Raylan knew Tim was having the exact same experience. Tim was busy on the phone, but hyper aware of Raylan. They hadn’t really seen each other since that night in Nicaragua, once Tim knew that Raylan was heading straight for the airport. Raylan would need to get his head on straight, and Tim was considering his own place in the military—him and his beehive.

The decision was made for him when Mark took a hit, a bad one that would lay him up and out of service. Tim had the foreboding sense that he was next in line.

The closer it came to a decision to sign up for another tour the more anxiety Tim felt, which he must have not been hiding all too well, because suddenly he found subtle offers by various agency that didn’t greatly appeal.

Kasham had given the most clarity towards the decision for Tim. The military no longer felt like home. His friends were either dead or phased out of the military life. When he thought about the military, he was sixteen again, talking to a complete stranger on the railroad tracks, where Raylan Givens reminded him that eighteen years of age was his way out. Even gave him the military idea. 

At twenty-seven, Tim had Kasham, whom was the closest thing he had to a brother. Yet, as a sensate it would always be more than that. Kasham practically gave Tim his blessings to go. He even said a prayer.

So Tim left the military.

And joined the US Marshals.

Honestly, it wasn’t because of Raylan. It was one of the most logical choices with his skill set, that didn’t require a level of secrecy, clearances, and classifications the other federal justice institutions had.

Still, it was a pleasant surprise to see Raylan walk through the doors of his very first placement, after he rather rudely rejected a placement in Texas to the administrator, and they shuffled him off to one of the smaller offices that they had as punishment.

At least his freshman status guaranteed him an exemption from a station in Antarctica.

So nine months into his position as the new guy, in walked Raylan, cowboy hat and an effortless saunter to his walk. Suddenly, a lot of teenage dreams and fantasies were in reach, but he had to leave to follow up on the call he received, all the way in Harlan. Discretely, Tim put his address on a notepad and left it out on his desk.  
  
He’s kept longer in Harlan when Ava Crowder shot her husband, Bowman Crowder at the dinner table. The only reason Tim was called in to check on it was because of the Crowder name.

By the time he got back, it’s late. Tim took a much deserved shower, pulling at his tie and depositing all his clothing in the hamper by the bathroom. He wondered if Raylan saw the address he left on his desk, or noticed how pointedly it was orientated to face Raylan’s direction when he got situated at his new desk right beside Tim’s.

He should go to sleep, get some rest for the possible shit storm that Bowman’s death could bring. He’d see Raylan the next day in the office anyway, except Tim felt jittery with excitement. He didn’t want to sleep, and when he tried to sit down with a book, the words weren’t filtering through his brain correctly.

“What the fuck,” he said to himself, wondering why he couldn’t rest his legs. He’d never been like this. Not for a long time, especially after sniper training.

With a jolt, Tim realized it was Raylan. The same way he knew to stand up and head to the front door. There was a knock as he reached it, and upon opening the door neither Raylan nor Tim was surprised to see the other.

Raylan pushed in, turning Tim and forcing the door closed when he shoved Tim against it. They both grappled the other as they kissed, very aware that Raylan was wearing a full set of clothes, while Tim was only in his boxers. 

Raylan’s managed to get his hands beneath those boxers, kneading his ass, while Tim struggled to pull off Raylan’s clothing. They slowly made their way to Tim’s bedroom, skimming against the wall, and bumping into furniture. Raylan’s clothing made a trail to Tim’s bed.

“Did you know I was here?” Tim asked, knocking the hat off Raylan’s head, recognizing it as the one Raylan asked for while handcuffed to a tree. “Jesus, the hat.” Of course, he’d wear a hat like that. He was afraid to ask if he’d been wearing one since Texas.

“I didn’t know you were here.” They stopped to kiss some more. “I came by earlier, you weren’t home. And the hat’s got sentimental value.”

Holy shit, he had been wearing it since Texas. “You’re lucky I never saw you with that hat, otherwise I wouldn’t have been considering this all those times,” Tim said, sitting down on his bed. “And I wasn’t home, because I got a thing called work. Maybe you heard of it.”

Tim’s got Raylan’s underwear halfway down his ass when Raylan pulled away to lift Tim and yank his boxers off. It left Tim completely bare for him again, and he took his time to look. Tim leaned back on his elbows, letting Raylan have his fill, remembering when he was twenty-three, on leave, and chased by bad memories.

Raylan catalogued the changes he could remember. There was a new scar on his stomach, a tattoo on his chest, and his body seemed stronger in some ways. He slowly slid a hand up one leg, all the way to cup Tim’s balls and slip down further to press a finger against his opening. 

Tim kept his breathing steady, while his dick ached with arousal. “There’s lube in the drawer,” Tim suggested, eyes closed, allowing him to swim in the sensation of a warm hand beside his own. 

He couldn’t see the glint in Raylan’s eyes, or know that he was thinking of a conversation they had seven years back. “Not yet,” Raylan said, spreading Tim’s legs so he could dive between them and lick where his finger was pressing.

Tim jerked in surprised, and had nothing to grip onto but his bedsheets. Raylan’s tongue was licking circles around, experimentally pressing in, until it actually did slip in.

“Jesus,” Tim said.

Raylan pulled away, smirking at Tim. “You said I could.”

“I can’t believe you remembered that.” He’d been joking with the stupid cannibal joke—or maybe he was somewhat joking, because Tim had thought about getting rimmed at sixteen.

“You definitely remembered,” Raylan teased, pushing two fingers in as his saliva partially eased the way. He watched as he pushed Tim to a wreck, lips getting red as Tim bit them to keep quiet. Raylan leaned down and gave two more licks alongside his fingers before he moved up to suck on Tim’s length. 

It’s a bit too much for Tim, who comes, toes curling and moaning into the sheets that might have somehow dislodge from the mattress. He felt like he was floating, vaguely aware of the bed bouncing when Raylan reached for the lube and condom in his bedside drawer. Raylan was practically on top of Tim, so he could feel the stiff length nudging him from beneath the Raylan’s briefs.

Tim pushed at Raylan then, knocking him on his back, right as Raylan managed to grab both items, and worked the briefs off. Tim figured he ought to return the favour, pressing the tip of Raylan’s length to a barely open mouth, teeth together, and rubbing his lips along the bulb of the head. 

Raylan felt like he’d been punch with the way air seemed to leave his body, watching the way Tim’s bottom lip would catch the head of his dick every so often. He should have figured that the younger man would be a damn tease about this, and it was a sheer relief when Tim would let his cock slip past, even if it would bump against Tim’s teeth, which suddenly seemed to be wired shut.

All the while, Tim was looking directly at Raylan and smiling wide.

“Tim,” Raylan cursed, making sure his irritation was known.

Tim huffed, withholding the true extent of his mirth. It was fun to wind Raylan up, till he got blue in the face. Or if he was so inclined, blue in the balls. He skimmed his mouth down to the base, gave a lick to Raylan’s balls, before travelling back up with sucks, licks, and a little bit of teeth.

“God you’re good.” Raylan had a hand on Tim’s head, yet only as a silent presence. He knew if he tried to guide this, Tim would do the exact opposite of what he wanted. What he wanted was his cock to be in the warm space of Tim’s mouth, or even better, his ass. 

Tim knew this too. He watched the bead of cum spill from the tip, and Tim would use his thumb to spread it around like slick. “Pass me the lube,” Tim said, which Raylan almost didn’t hear. He fumbled to remember which hand was holding the item before doing as instructed.

“Smooth,” Tim teased.

“I think I should have eaten you out more.” It would have been the best of both worlds. Raylan would get his revenge and still get to have Tim.

Tim was too busy to respond, opening the cap with one hand, and allowing the viscous liquid to upend on his finger and hands. It dropped somewhere on the bed sheet when Tim reached his fingers back behind and into himself, simultaneously swallowing Raylan down. He bobbed his head in time with his fingers spreading in and out of him.

Raylan propped himself up on his elbows to watch, tossing the lube when it managed to slip uncomfortably between his ass and the bed. If Tim was aware of this he made no notion, concentrating on what he was doing, while Raylan watched Tim suck him off and finger himself.

There was something about having Tim here with him, rather than through the link, that made everything feel more real. It was something he never thought about, because he could feel cold and hot, or the roughness and smoothness of skin. But with Tim’s hair through his fingers or the mouth giving slow sucks on his dick, it somehow seemed more intense. It was the difference between the glance of a bullet and being shot.

Raylan pushed at Tim’s shoulder, feeling like a coil about to snap from being wound too tight. “Not yet,” Raylan said, insisting that he doesn’t finish now. He pushed harder at Tim’s shoulder. “Come on.”

Tim obliged, deftly lying beside Raylan and bringing his knees to his chest.

Raylan didn’t think twice to roll on top, kissing skin and lips, delving his tongue into Tim’s mouth and tasting himself.

Tim responded in kind, while he stroked Raylan’s length, and guiding him where he wanted him to be. With his cock at Tim’s entrance, Raylan didn’t prolong it any longer, sinking into Tim with an almost easy glide.

They moaned into each other’s mouth, stopping when Raylan was fully seated in.

“Fuck.” Tim blinked up, wrapping his mind on the weight above him and the stretch inside him.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” Tim nodded, enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good,” Raylan confirmed, before he began rocking his hips, and moved to find the right angle.

For Tim, it was better than the fantasies he had or anything he’d ever done. In the back of his mind, he probably realized how biased he was, but no one could make him forget being sixteen years old and biting into his pillow, while he masturbated to thoughts of a man he technically never met in person.

Tim rocked back onto those thrusts, making sure he gave as good as he got.

Raylan looked down at Tim, whose eyes were closed again and his lips red and plump. He recalled that mouth making comments to make him uncomfortable, and wondered when that became attractive to him. Raylan had the foreboding realization that Tim was going to purposely twist him into awkward arrangements, with jokes and sarcastic quips, during his time in Kentucky. 

And he was going to put up with it.

Tim arched when Raylan happened upon a better angle; one that slide his dick right along that nub inside him. A shudder coursed up his spine, made in breathless, and had him spread his legs even wider.

Tim looked at Raylan, saw that pleased as punch smile, and knew he couldn’t let things stand as it was.

“Jesus,” Raylan gasped, and moaned whenever Tim rhythmically tightened around him at every thrust in. 

Tim chuckled and asked a little breathless, “are we even?”

Raylan started to roll his hips harder and faster to wipe that damn smirk off Tim’s face. 

It sure as hell did the trick.

Tim gripped at Raylan’s back, concentrating on breathing right. He was sure the way Raylan was going at it, his head was inching closer to the headboard. Tim began to pull Raylan down into a kiss when the pleasure was a bit too much with the way his cock would rub against Raylan’s stomach every so often.

“You gonna let us come anytime soon?” Raylan asked, a touch of desperation entering his voice.

“Maybe I’m a masochist.”

“Come on,” Raylan pleaded, giving in to another of Tim’s kisses.

Tim didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached down his for his length, wet with the dribbles of cum that surged out. Raylan took that as the go ahead, using the headboard to leverage his thrust.

Neither of them knew who came first, gasping and moaning, drenched with sweat, and filthy from the milky fluid between them.

Raylan rolled off first, pulling off the condom and placing it on Tim’s nightstand without even tying it closed. Tim would have commented, but he honestly didn’t give a shit with how relaxed and open he felt at the moment.

“How long were you waiting to do that?”

“Get over yourself. How’d you know I don’t do that with every good looking guy a meet?”

“So you think I’m good looking?”

Tim closed his eyes in exasperation. It was possible he was off his game a bit. “Don’t look too much into it.”

Raylan pulled at Tim, forcing him to look at the fond expression Raylan had for him. Tim obliged when Raylan pulled him in further to kiss him again, but softer and slower, with all the time in the world, until they had to head to the office tomorrow morning.

“I need to change the sheets,” Tim interrupted.

Raylan sighed, yet relented, getting up to find a cloth to wipe himself clean in the bathroom. “Got anything smaller than a towel?”

“In the top drawer on the left,” Tim said, wiping cum off with the soiled bedsheets. When he came back there was a moment of panic that was overtaken by a mischievous curiosity. Tim did his best to school his face, seeing the booklet Raylan had in his hand.

“What the hell is this?” Raylan asked, with an eyebrow raised incredulously.

Tomoyo presented him the booklet two years ago for his birthday, calling it a doujinshi. “What does it look like?”

Raylan flipped through the pages again, recognizing drawn images of Tim and _him_ having sex. How did Tim’s ‘friend’ know what he even looked like? Then a thought dawned on him.

“Please tell me your Japanese friend wasn’t watching us just now?” 

Tim laughed himself to the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I feel like I had made many allusion to other various Raylan/Tim fics because the number of fics that exist means I've read a lot of them too many times.
> 
> 2) Apparently in the books, Raylan is cited to have joined the army and became a Marine, but I didn't know if this detail was ever stated in the show. Well, since this was an AU anyways, I decided to make Raylan go through college instead.
> 
> 3)You got to hand it to the show for the detail they put in. Ever notice that Tim Gutterson wears his wrist watch with the clock face on the inside of his wrist. It's there right in the first episode and carries through. And it's not a Jacob Pitts thing because I've been looking at too many photos of J-Pitts and Tim Gutterson.
> 
> 4)Since Sense8 has only been through one season, the rules of their abilities are partially defined by the show's outright statements to the boundaries of their abilities, what I gleaned from the interactions that have been displayed in the show, and my own malleable headcanon. 
> 
> 5) In case your curious on my notes about their clusters:
> 
> Tim Gutterson, Texas, Army Ranger  
> Kamhan, Aghanistan, store clerk  
> Darlene, Minnesota, entomology student  
> Juan, Peru, aspiring professional golfer  
> Charlotte, Amsterdam, stripper  
> Tomoyo, Hokkaido, mangaka artist/writer  
> Wayne, Boston, homeless/sells stolen metal  
> Roan, Dublin, bartender/university student
> 
> Raylan Givens, Kentucky, US Marshal  
> Julie, Russia, works at Big Cat Sanctuary in the US  
> Randy, England, conman/magician  
> Antoinette, Paris, owns a bakery  
> Yao, Hong Kong, tech support call center  
> Winona, Kentucky, court reporter  
> Evans, Canada, professor of philosophy  
> Felicia, Los Angles, Entertainment Lawyer
> 
> 6) If there's mistakes, it's because I can only read and edit this thing so many times before slowly losing confidence and wanting to delete it all together. So I bit the bullet and posted the damn thing.


End file.
